Taking that First Step
by avoidingnemo
Summary: Theresa's thoughts as she boxes up the things that Ryan left behind.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything OC related.

A/N: Jo, thanks once again for all your help and guidance. You're the best!

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Theresa's aware that her knees are digging into the side of the mattress, but she doesn't really focus on that. Instead, she focuses on the wifebeater that she's delicately holding in her hands. Not just any wifebeater, but one of his. She rubs her thumb back and forth over the soft white cotton. Her mind travels back to the owner of the undershirt - back to the blond boy with those piercing blue eyes who stole her heart with a slight nod the day he moved in next door. At 17, she has loved that boy for half her years and she's pretty sure she will continue to do so for the rest of her life.

Without thinking, she brings the tanktop up to her face and buries her nose in it. Expecting the smell that can only be described as "Ryan," she immediately drops the offending cotton when her senses register that it isn't his scent but, in fact, her own. Watching the shirt fall to the bed brings her back to reality and she curses inwardly for setting herself up for another fall. After all, it's that very same wifebeater which has her packing up his things in the first place.

The first few weeks after Ryan left, she slept in one of his shirts every night. She'd breathe in his scent from the worn fabric and immediately feel closer to him; thus always calming her down. Her emotions were all over the place - ranging from missing him to worrying if she'd done the right thing, and always being scared he would find out she lied; that somehow, someone would see her and the swollen belly that refuses to keep her secret and run to tell Ryan. That fear alone kept her up many nights. She constantly had to remind herself to calm down - that all this worrying wasn't good for the baby. Sometimes she'd have to silently remind herself to breathe. She would then drink in his smell and instantly relax. He always had that effect on her. He could drive her crazy and yet, with one simple look or touch, calm her down instantly. His influence on her was like that law of gravity or motion or whatever it was that her teacher went on and on about which states something about an equal but opposite reaction. He was a blessing and a curse.

Two weeks after he'd left, she'd reached for one of his wifebeaters and realized it smelled like her. She'd worn them so much that his scent was gone and all that was left was hers. That was the first night she really realized he was gone. He was never coming back. The days that followed were a blur to her. She remembered every time the phone would ring, she'd rush to it, hoping it was him but praying that it wasn't with the same intensity. Then she'd stand frozen, hand hovering over the phone until her mother would finally answer it. After a few days of this, her mom told her it was time to box up Ryan's things and give them away - get rid of them so that she could begin to move on. But they weren't her things to give away. So she waited until she had the money to ship his belongings. She felt guilty for spending the money on shipping when she so badly needed it for the baby, but she figured in a bind, she could return some of the baby items Kirsten had sent. What mother in Chino needed a Chanel diaper bag anyway?

She finally realizes that her knees are screaming from digging into the mattress for so long. She takes a step back and looks at the bed. Her eyes survey the white comforter with the tiny blue and tan stripes. Her eyes scan across to the big packing box in the center of the bed and then fall on the wifebeater once again. This time it's the tag that catches her eye. It's one of those fancy designer tags. She doesn't even bother to read the name. She spent all summer washing his expensive clothes with tags of brands she didn't even recognize or only dreamed of owning. Just one more thing to prove that he didn't belong in Chino; he didn't belong to her. She picks up the disappointing garment and places it in the box. These may be Ryan Atwood's clothes, but they aren't her Ryan's clothes. These belong to the Newport version of Ryan. She turns around and reaches inside the wooden drawer for the rest of his undergarments - placing them in the box, she prays for what must be the hundredth time since he left that she'd done the right thing.

She'd love to talk to him one more time. One more time before the baby comes when there's a chance that a cry will blow her cover. She just needs the reassurance that this lie was worth it. That letting him go was worth it. She knows in her heart that being in Newport is what he wants. He told her once, that he wasn't part of the Cohens' family anymore, but she knows that doesn't mean he doesn't _want _to be.

They could always read each other like a book, yet he didn't even pressure her when she said the baby had died and told him to not come back. He didn't call when he got back to Newport, not even to make plans to pick up his stuff. She assumes Kirsten just bought him more. Even her mother was surprised he bought her story. But that's the ending he secretly wanted so he didn't challenge it. His silence when she said, "You don't want to come home," said it all. He wanted to go home, but his home and her home were two different places. In the end, he went home. Home to the Cohens. She wants him to be happy, but she just can't understand why he can't be happy with her. What did the Cohens have that she didn't? She knows deep down that the answer has a lot more to do with Kirsten, Sandy, and Dawn than even Ryan would ever admit.

She opens the next drawer and takes out his shirts, placing them in the box. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of the picture of the two of them together, still sitting on his nightstand. She leaves the box behind and walks around the bed to the nightstand. She picks up the picture and runs a finger over his face. Another ritual she has taken up since his departure. She's glad the picture's protected by glass because she's positive that if it wasn't, by now there would be a hole where his face is. She should put the picture away or box it up with his other things, but she can't part with it. Not yet. Baby steps. His clothes today, maybe the picture another day. She stares for a second longer. It was taken the day they got home from their first doctor's appointment. Looking closely, she sees that even then he wasn't her Ryan. His eyes aren't bright and his smile is forced.

He doesn't belong in Chino; she's not sure he ever did. Even when he lived next door, there was always something about him that screamed he didn't belong. She knew that was true when he took the SAT's. Not only took them, but did really well on them. Exceptionally well. That wasn't the score of a guy who could be content to live in Chino for the rest of his life.

When he first returned to Chino, he was even more quiet and withdrawn than usual. She pretended not to notice, chalking it up to Seth's disappearance. Then Seth called the Cohens and, in turn, the Cohens called Ryan. His mood never changed. It was then that she realized that his mood had nothing to do with Seth and everything to do with Chino and her. He didn't belong to her. She wonders now if he ever did.

With a sigh, she places the picture back down on the nightstand and gets back to the task at hand. She walks over to the closet and pulls out his remaining shirts - folding each one up carefully before placing them all in the box. She takes every pair of jeans off the hangers and folds them in half and then in half again. She places the last of the pants in the box and turns back to the closet. All that's left is the one item she's been dreading…the black leather jacket.

With all the determination she can muster, she slips it off the hanger. She turns around and begins to walk back to the bed, willing herself to stay strong. Halfway between the closet and the bed, her resistance falters. She stops suddenly and lifts the jacket up to her face, breathing in his scent. Now this, she notes, belongs to her Ryan. She takes another sniff and realizes there are only three things that ever solely belonged to her Ryan: the jacket, the choker, and the leather cuff. Well, four, if you count her heart.

On Thanksgiving, when Ryan and Marissa showed up at her house, the first thing she noticed was that he was no longer wearing the leather choker. Her first reaction was that of sadness, then something resembling relief took over. Relief that no other girl would enjoy the choker the way she did.

She remembers when he got that choker. It was for his last birthday.

She snuck into his room through the window a little after midnight. She wanted to be the first to wish him a happy birthday. She slid in bed beside him and kissed him tenderly to wake him up. It wasn't like him to be in bed asleep so early, but he and AJ had had another disagreement earlier in the day that had left Ryan a little worse for the wear.

"Theresa? What are you doing here?" he asked softly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and wincing as he sat up in bed.

His eyes kept darting from her to the door. She didn't have to be a mind reader to know he was scared of waking AJ. She knew the fight had been a bad one. She had helped bandage up his cuts and made him an ice pack for his blackened eye. He'd spent the majority of the evening hiding out at her house with Arturo until he was sure that AJ would be passed out.

"I wanted to give you your birthday present. Here," she nervously replied while shoving a wrapped box into his hands.

He looked up with a mixture of confusion and amusement in his eyes. "Thanks," he stated shyly.

He turned his attention back to the box and ripped off the wrapping paper. He lifted the lid and pulled out the leather strap.

"A necklace?" he asked skeptically.

"Just trust me. Stand up and turn around."

"Theresa, I don't do necklaces."

"You do now. Stand up."

He sighed heavily and did as she said. He stood with his back to her and she caught sight of the bruise the size of a thumb on his neck. She reached out to touch it, but as soon as her thumb grazed his skin, he moved his head slightly out of her reach. She pretended not to notice the movement, and latched the necklace behind his neck.

"I don't know about this," he stated and turned back around to face her.

"I do," she said seductively as she crooked her finger in between the stiff leather and his neck.

She pulled him toward her and started walking backwards until the back of her thighs made contact with the bed. She kept her finger behind the necklace as she lay back onto the rumpled sheets. He had no choice but to follow. She pulled him in for a kiss and felt him immediately respond. If he was still worried about AJ, he didn't show it.

The control she had over him turned her on immediately and in a matter of minutes, the only thing either of them was wearing was that leather choker. Afterwards, she laid there in his arms. She rubbed her hand up and down his arm and asked, "So the necklace…?"

He cut her off before she could finish her question. "It stays."

That choker was the cause of many of their escapades after that night.

Still holding the leather jacket, she notes that she has no idea what happened to the wrist cuff. He was wearing it the day she brought him back to Chino, but she can't remember seeing it after that. Then it becomes so clear. Slowly, Ryan left behind everything that reminded him of Chino. First the choker, then the wrist cuff, next the jacket and lastly, her. Willing herself not to break down over this realization, she folds the jacket up and places it in the box.

Looking around the room, she doesn't see anything else that needs to be placed in the box and she folds down the flaps of the brown cardboard. She walks over to her dresser to pick up the packing tape and marker, but picks up her latest sonogram picture instead.

She stares at the photo for a moment. She reads the word "girl" written in the corner. She's going to be a mother.

When she was younger, she imagined what it would be like to married. She imagined the house, the car, how many children she would have, and of course, her husband. Over the years, the vision changed, the house became a different color, and the number of children became smaller after that summer of babysitting. The only thing that didn't change was her husband. In her daydreams, her husband, the father of her children, was always Ryan.

She never thought her life would turn out this way. She's 17, pregnant, and alone. Sometimes, it doesn't seem real. The baby chooses this opportune moment to kick. It's real, all right.

She puts the sonogram back down and opens the top drawer of the dresser. She retrieves her first sonogram picture that she had taken, along with the packing tape and the marker. She walks back over to the bed and places the items on the bed. One by one, she opens the flaps of the box and removes the leather jacket, placing it on the other side of the box picking up the sonogram picture once again. She places the picture on top of the stack of jeans in place of the jacket, picking up the tape and sealing the box shut. She's keeping the jacket. He probably won't miss it anyway. She's sure Kirsten has already bought him a new one to replace the one he left behind.

She knows she's playing with fire sending him the sonogram, and that it may just result in getting the phone call she has been both dreading and hoping for at the same time, but she wants him to have something to remember her and the baby by. She looks down at her bulging belly and rubs her hands across the bump. A part of her wants Ryan to be the father of this baby - to always have something of his that belongs to her. But the other part of her wants Eddie to be the father. Theresa isn't naïve, she knows that one day, Ryan will find out the truth. This way, when he does, she can tell him the lie she has rehearsed over and over again. She will tell him that the doctor moved up her due date and she knew then that there was no way he could've been the father, so she lied to him to set him free. She refuses to think of the pain and hurt that will flash in those brilliant blue eyes which hold the truth that he tries so hard to hide from everyone. But this way, maybe one day he will learn to forgive her. Maybe.

She takes one last look at the box on her bed before picking up the black magic marker. She writes his name and address on the package. She picks up the heavy box that she knows a woman in her condition shouldn't be lifting, and walks out of her bedroom, down the hallway, and out the front door. She locks the door behind her and walks the short distance across her front yard to her yellow Lebaron. She opens the car door, places the box in the back seat and climbs in the driver side. She drives down the familiar streets of Chino, and in a few minutes, she's at the UPS store.

She carries the box inside, and the teenage clerk behind the counter immediately comes over and takes it from her. She lets him weigh and measure it or whatever it is that he must do. She's not really paying attention to the clerk; she's just staring at Ryan's name on the box and his Newport address. She can't resist its allure anymore.

She reaches out and rubs her hand across his name. She's always seen the lovesick, heartbroken girl do that to a letter on movies and never really understood why until now. Touching his name brings a false sense of closeness to her. He isn't any closer to her than he was before she touched the box but yet she still feels calmer; like a connection has been made. She smiles slightly when she realizes that she wrote the "n" in his name more like a mini capital "n." It's the same size as her lower case "a," but it's a capital "N." It's something she started doing, by accident, the first time she ever wrote him a note. She still doesn't know why she writes his name that way. She doesn't write the letter "n" that way for anything except his name, not even if it's the name "Ryan" she's writing. No, this is something she reserves for him.

She turns her attention back to the clerk, pays him the money, and walks out before he can see the tears starting to steam down her face. "Goodbye, Ryan," she whispers.

She gets back in the car and the tears are too much to contain any longer. She lets them fall freely, not giving a damn who might walk by. She cries for what seems like forever until she can finally regain control of her emotions.

When she pulls into the driveway, she realizes that she has beaten her mother home. Letting herself into the house, she breathes a sigh of relief. She walks back to her room and throws herself on the bed. Between the physical labor of boxing everything up and the emotional roller coaster that taking a step toward letting go has put her through, she's worn out. She's proud of herself for taking that big step and trying to find a way to live without him. Letting go sounds so much easier than it really is. She remembers some girly saying about setting something free and if it comes back, it's your to keep or something like that. The funny thing is that saying applies to everyone, including the Cohens. They let Ryan leave and he returned to them, so that makes him theirs to keep. Not hers. She let him leave but he's not coming back to her.

She drags a hand across her stomach, a sure telltale sign of a pregnant woman, wondering again if letting Ryan go was the right decision. But this time she questions if it was the right choice for the baby. For the first time she admits, if only to herself, that she had other choices. She could've sent him back to Newport - back to the Cohens - without having to say the baby died. She could've kicked him out or had her mom do it. Sure, he would've been hurt, but after he calmed down, he'd still be a part of the baby's life, regardless of paternity. In return, the Cohens would've been like another set of grandparents to her child. So by giving Ryan a second chance at the life he deserved, she'd traded that same life for her baby.

She starts to cry and barely hears her mother enter her room. She feels the bed shift and looks up through teary vision. She squeezes her eyes shut firmly when she feels her mom's arms wrap tightly around her, pulling her close. She allows her body to rock back and forth in her mother's soothing embrace. She places her hand back across her belly protectively, like she is trying to shield the baby from the pain. She continues to rock in her mother's arms repeating through the tears, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry."


End file.
